


Inheritance

by Oppo Rancisis (NowThatsDedication)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Korkie is alive and not well, Obitine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28406667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowThatsDedication/pseuds/Oppo%20Rancisis
Summary: Korkie Kryze wasn’t running, only cowards ran. He was disappearing...After his life falls apart, Korkie flees what’s left of his home hoping to leave behind the failures and secrets that plague him.But fate has other plans and Korkie finds both his past and future in an unlikely place.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 48
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

“Sure, I can give you a lift, Sparky.”

“It’s Korkie.” He had already stated his name several times, yet there was only a slight annoyance in his correction; the boy was used to being forgotten. 

“Whatever. You heading to Arkanis?” asked the Besalisk pilot, scratching his stomach with three of his hands. 

“I guess so. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Ah, a wanderer.” 

Korkie shrugged. Sometimes it was best to close your eyes and wake up on a new planet. Then repeat, repeat, repeat until...when did it stop? When he reached the end of the galaxy? 

He pushed that tedious thought away, along with the shock of red-gold hair that had fallen across his forehead. Before he could take another step, he was blocked by two beefy arms.

“What?” 

“Payment.” The Besalisk stuck out a couple of palms.

“But sir,” he protested as politely as he could manage, “I helped you load the ship, isn’t that-”

“Enough to get you to Arkanis? Not a chance. Now pay up or get out.”

Months of bouncing around the Outer Rim had taught Korkie more about life than years at the Academy had. Diplomacy was of little use bartering on Florrum and his haughty attitude nearly got him killed on Nar Shaddaa, but he quickly figured out when to keep his mouth shut, when to argue, and how to remain inconspicuous. Though no one would be looking for him, he was positive of that.  _ Trouble always seems to find you, my dear.  _

He opened his bag and pulled out the only thing left of value he carried. He looked down upon it, no longer recognizing the reflection staring back at him from the gleaming beskar. The boy handed it over after only a brief moment of consideration. 

“Huh, never got one of these before,” the Besalisk snorted, “Looks valuable.”

“Yes, it is. Very. But I have no use for it, so-”

“Look, I don’t need a life story, kid. I don’t care who or what you’re running from.”

“Who said I was running from anything?” Korkie clenched his fists. Only cowards ran. He wasn’t running; he was disappearing. 

“Just a hunch.” He tossed the Mandalorian helmet onto the cockpit floor. “Now go strap yourself in with the rest of the  _ cargo _ .”

A dozen other desperate passengers sat cramped inside. Korkie avoided eye contact with all of them, yet they stared at him with curiosity. He wasn’t sure why; he was neither special nor different, he had conceded recently. He was one of them now - the lost, the unfortunate, the cursed. 

He slumped down in his seat and tucked his nearly empty bag beneath his head. He would once again close his eyes and wake up on another planet, the only consistent routine in his life. Sleep, even on this noisy old ship, came quickly. 

But the dreams found him; there was no hiding from the dreams. 

The scent of destruction engulfed him: death and fire and fear. Smoke too thick to see through, flames licking at his back as he ran, searching for what no longer existed. Sorrow, his only companion, clung to him amid the ruins of a once magnificent place. A mocking, biting voice echoed inside his head:  _ The truth always comes out, doesn’t it?  _ The truth now rang louder than all the blaster fire, all the explosions. It was deafening. He looked down at his hands. Even in the darkness, he could see they were stained with blood...

A strange hand jolted him awake and he gasped as if all the breath had been stolen from his body. 

“Young man, are you all right? You were twitching and flailing, it was very alarming,” a Twi-lek women with burn scarred lekku glared at him with concern. 

Korkie nodded, trying to swallow back the residual dread that lingers after such a nightmare. “I’m fine m’am, thank you.” 

“The kid’s probably just airsick,” scoffed an eavesdropping Snivvian.

“I’m fine, really.” He did feel sick, but not from flying. 

The Twi’lek shook her head. “If you’re on this ship, sweetie, things are not fine. You look too young to be on your own.”

“I’m old enough.” Korkie was no longer a child, he was certain. Yet, at eighteen, was he truly an adult?

“You still shouldn’t be alone. No parents?” 

“They’re dead,” the boy answered coldly with a lift of his chin. 

“What about friends?” 

His closest friends were either dead or missing- presumed dead. Cadets he had lived with, studied with...well, it was a relief when they had helmets on. Then they were merely objects to step over. Rubble, broken pieces without faces. And there was Lagos, but she would never forgive him. Not after what he did. 

“I’m alone. And I prefer it that way,” he declared, crossing his arms tight against his body. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. Are you a war orphan? The war hurt so many of us.”

That word prompted a flurry of exclamations and conversations around them. Tales of triumph and woe.  _ War _ .

“Thank the stars that’s finally over!

“Peace! Finally!”

It was one of those times he knew he should keep his mouth shut but hot emotions boiled to the surface. Korkie had opinions. 

“Maybe for now. But history is nothing but a string of continuous wars. Maybe there’s a break for a few years but we go right back to fighting again. And what for?” 

“What do you know about fighting, kid?” A disheveled man tapped his mechanical eye and leg.

“I know it’s pointless.” 

“You're saying...it was for  _ nothing _ ?” 

“Nothing  _ good _ .” There wasn’t anything left worth fighting for, he had decided not too long ago.

“You sound like one of those...what do you call em’? Against fighting...pa… _ pessimists _ . That’s it.”

“You could say that.” The boy pursed his lips into a defiant smirk. 

The man leaned in, close enough for Korkie to hear the whirring of his eye. “I don’t need some baby-faced brat disrespecting  _ my _ sacrifices, getting all high and mighty about stuff he knows nothing about. I bet you’ve never even-”

A sudden, violent jerk sent the veteran hurtling backwards. An ear-splitting  _ boom _ soon followed. 

Wispy smoke and screams wafted through the cabin, nearly drowning out the intercom message:

“Uh, due to some mechanical issues, it looks like we’ll be making an unexpected detour. We will now be landing on…”

There was a long silence, peppered with mumbling and faint expletives.

“...Tatooine. We’ll be landing on Tatooine...that is, if we  _ can _ land.”

Passengers stood up and rushed to nowhere in particular, stupid with fear. A few accepted their fates and buried their heads in their hands. 

Korkie fidgeted with the comlink in his bag. He didn’t know why he had kept it; perhaps for moments like these, when the urge to call the one person who might still care was too hard to resist. He touched the scar on the back of his head. At the very least, she deserved to know what happened to him. Dead was better than presumed dead, wasn’t it? There was no guessing involved, no false hope. 

He forced back his rising panic and calmly raised the communicator to his mouth:

“Lagos...Lagos, it’s me. It’s Kor. I just wanted to say I… I hope you’re all right. If you are, and if I happen to survive this, um, predicament I’m in, I’ll be on Tat-”

Another jolt sent the comlink flying from his hand and skidding across the floor, where it met its destruction beneath the weight of stampeding feet. 

“Osik...shab!”  _ Korkie, never swear in public. It presents an unsavory appearance.  _

Someone had to take charge. The boy swept back the hair from his eyes and sighed. It felt like an obligation, not a calling. 

“Everyone, please...calm down! Listen!” Korkie spoke with an authority that surprised even himself. The passengers stopped and gave their attention, an unexpected and overwhelming outcome. 

He raised up his hands, stepping forward out of the dissipating smoke. “We are going to be  _ fine _ . Prepare for a rough landing. Take your seats and brace yourself.”

They came to their senses and complied, hushing their sobs and hysterical chatter. All it took were gentle words of reassurance.  _ A great leader shines in the darkest times. _

He sat down beside the hyperventilating Twi-lek. “Deep breaths,” he instructed, “slow inhale, long exhale, good. This will be over before you know it.” 

“What a capable kid,” the Snivvian muttered.

How well he was he was able to fool them all! 

The chaos subsided into low murmurs of uncertainty. The ship carried on its bumpy way toward its emergency destination. Korkie closed his eyes and contemplated the statistical probabilities of survival (decent), the call he now regretted (foolish), and whether he possessed true leadership or luck (the latter, although he didn’t seem to have much of it). 

Soon he would wake up on some backwater planet with no credits, no plan, no hope. He should have had a bad feeling about this. Strangely, he did not. Why did this feel  _ right _ ? 


	2. Chapter 2

_ Korkie knew the best places to hide.  _

_ It felt like an eternity since he had squeezed himself into the tiny recess. His legs were turning numb but he remained eager and committed to this space.  _

_ Footsteps, finally!  _

_ He held his breath and crouched down lower.  _

_ “Hmmm, where ever could he be?”  _

_ He heard her long, graceful strides pass by him without notice. Korkie silently celebrated his victory until a hand from above ruffled his hair. Caught at last!  _

_ “How did you find me, Auntie,” he pouted, “the guards NEVER find me!” _

_ “I know every inch of this palace, all the secret spots.” She sat down beside him, her long, lustrous skirt spilling onto the floor. “I will always find you.”  _

_ “I don’t think I like playing hide and seek much with you, then,” the child frowned; he was not accustomed to losing.  _

_ “Don’t be a poor sport, my dear. You are still very clever and it would have taken hours for anyone else to discover you.” _

_ “Are you as good at hiding as you are at finding?” _

_ “Even better. Would you like to hear a story? More exciting than sneaking around behind a wall, isn’t it?”  _

_ “Yes please, Auntie!”  _

_ “Let’s see, how shall we begin this one?” The lilies in her hair swayed as she moved. Her voice was music.  _

_ “There once was a Mandalorian girl who was far away from home. It was very dangerous, so Jedi were sent to protect her. Their names were Master Jinn and Ben….” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be short interlude chapters jumping around the timeline and this is one of them. Sorry for the tease but thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

“I was hoping to crash land on a less... _dry_ planet. I’m tired of deserts, friend.”

The eopie grunted and shuffled its hooves. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to insult your home,” Korkie patted the animal's neck in apology. “It’s my home for now too, I suppose,” he kicked the ground, “because I’m stuck here.”

_Always be grateful for what you have, Korkie._ He was grateful for his luck. The curmudgeonly stable master, Wodi, offered him work he couldn’t refuse: food, water (barely) and a corner to sleep in exchange for his labor. There were worse jobs, certainly, but it was no less of a shock for the boy who had never gotten his hands dirty like this before. 

“You know,” Korkie reminisced, leaning on the end of his shovel, “I used to be top of my class. Head of the Young Galactic Historian Association and prominent member of the Junior Leaders Council, among many other distinctions. More accolades than I cared to count. And now I’m mucking through your mess in this dusty excuse for a- ” 

The eopie huffed. 

“Ah, sorry, sorry. Wait, _why_ am I telling you all of this? It’s pointless and boring. Here’s your breakfast.” 

Korkie made his way down the stalls, feeding the eopies that were boarding while their owners took slightly better accommodations elsewhere. “Good afternoon, Gurga...Leepie…and you, too, Zing.”

He had a way with animals. It came so natural to him that he assumed everyone had the same connection and was shocked when others couldn’t decipher a growl or a mewl or the shake of a furry head.

A lone calf bellowed at the back of the stable, its cries tugging at the boy’s sensitive heart. He knelt down beside it, attempting to assuage its distress with a calming touch. “Shhh, shhh, there you go. I’m sorry little one. You miss your mother, don’t you?” He lowered his eyes; the ground was moving beneath his feet. The walls closed in around him. 

He said _that_ word. He began to fall apart, again. 

Worse than the dreams that tormented him at night were the vivid memories that seeped into his consciousness, replaying over and over. 

_Oh, you didn’t know? The truth always finds its way, doesn’t it?_

He stood up, dropping the bucket of feed. The loud clang did not pull him from his trance.

_Secrets don’t always die with their keepers._

_Where were you? WHERE WERE YOU?_

The familiar, heavy weight crushed his chest and a searing heat grew behind his eyes. He stumbled out of the building for fresh air and sucked it in greedily, waiting for the dizziness to subside. 

Wodi spotted the boy, noticing his unsteady movements and the color draining from his face.

“What’s the matter? Are you inhaling too much dung?”

Korkie shook his head. He could breathe again. The voices were gone. He returned to the Illusion of normalcy. 

“Just taking a quick rest.”

“Rest is for the dead,” he cackled, “you have a minute? We need to talk.”

They never talked, so Korkie surmised this was not good news. 

“There’s been some complaints about you.”

“ _Me_?” Korkie was aware of several matters one could complain about regarding himself, but his work ethic was not one of them. 

“The travelers don’t like how you’re treating their animals while they’re here.”

“But I treat them exceptionally well!” They were treated better than he was, but he stopped himself from saying it. 

“That’s just it. They say you spoil them. Soon they won’t be willing to work for anything less.”

Korkie’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “They’re upset the eopies are...being treated with _kindness_?” He bit his lip to stifle a laugh. He found nothing funny about it; the laughter hid his indignation.

“So to keep the paying folks happy, and to keep _your job_ , you need to knock it off. They aren’t your pets, you hear me? Feed em,’ clean up, and quit the pampering.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” His forced smile almost betrayed his outrage. Am I going mad, he thought, or is it everyone else?

“Hmmph, you’re lucky I’m keeping you around. I guess I feel sorry for you. And I don’t usually _feel_ , you know?” 

Korkie figured he would take advantage of this rare display of pity. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to inquire...may I please have a bit more water in my daily allotment?”

“Why? I give you enough to drink.”

“I would very much appreciate the occasional bath.” 

Wodi howled and slapped his knee. “What do you think, there’s enough water around here for _you_ to _bathe_?!” He walked away, shaking his head and muttering, “crazy kid! Must think he’s royalty or something.”

***

Another tiring, tedious day of work wound down. Korkie noticed some water left at the bottom of the troughs while refilling them for the night. The earlier rejection only heightened his determination to wash away the grime and failure that clung to him. 

Diligently, he gathered it all into the largest bucket, pretending not to notice the flecks of food and debris floating inside. He retreated to his corner of the stable, held his breath, and dumped the water over his head. It didn’t make him feel any cleaner, only miserable and defeated. He shivered and wondered if this was the lowest point he’d reach. 

Like every night, Korkie passed the time staring at the crumbling walls and trying not to remember. He forced himself to eat a ration bar, lamenting the taste of real food; decadent, well-prepared food that hadn’t been condensed into a barely edible rectangle. He wished he still had his datapad, robbed from him somewhere in the Baxel sector. He missed reading, learning; the only knowledge he acquired now was toward survival. 

He stamped down a pile of hay in a futile attempt to make it comfortable. He longed for the luxurious bed he always took for granted. Even the lumpy, subpar mattresses at the Academy sounded appealing now. 

His still damp hair lay limp across his forehead, irritating him as he prepared to fall into uneasy sleep. He slipped his hand into his pocket, making a fist around the object within it. A sharp edge poked his finger and he pressed harder and harder until it throbbed, a nightly ritual of repentance. _I will always find you_. Korkie sniffled, reflexively hugging his arms tight against his body. He broke the stillness of the night with strangled whimpers as he wept into his sleeve. 

***

“I can’t talk anymore,” he whispered to the animals, “or we’ll both be in trouble. Sorry.” He fed them that morning in silence, no extras, no special attention, in case anyone was watching. He could sense their confusion, maybe they could sense his guilt? “Sorry,” he whispered again. 

“Come on, move. MOVE!” Outside, a large hulking man struggled with his eopie. Loud commands and curses followed, all to no avail. 

Korkie did his best to ignore the commotion. But he was never good at minding his own business. 

It was the crack of a whip that did it; it was more than a mistreated animal, it was all the hurt and injustice and cruelty that had accumulated in the boy’s heart. Inaction was no longer an option. He was not raised that way. 

He strode out of the stable, fists clenched tight and head held high with righteous confidence. Deescalate with words, not violence, he reminded himself. 

“She’d be more apt to follow you if you restrained from beating her.” His bottom lip quivered in outrage. 

“My animal, my rules. I can do what I want, boy.” He produced a whip from behind his back. The eopie’s cry pierced Korkie like a knife. 

The man choked out a spiteful laugh. “Only the lowest of beasts don’t fight back!” 

Korkie lost himself in a blind rage, along with all gentility and common sense. He lept in front of the eopie, grabbing the man’s muscled forearm as he raised it up for another lashing. What he forgot in his moment of impulse was the other arm, the other fist, and it soon crashed into the side of his face. Too disoriented to defend himself, another quick strike followed. The boy’s knees buckled, a metallic taste filled his mouth. 

“That’s some nerve you’ve got. Now let’s see if you can take a thrashing as good as the livestock!” 

Korkie somehow mustered the strength to dodge away, the whip snapping viciously at the sand. The attacker retaliated with a kick to his ribs, hard enough to lift him off the ground. If this is how I die, he considered briefly, at least it was for a noble cause. _Oh, Korkie, must you always be so dramatic?_ He shut his eyes and curled up in anticipation of the next blow. 

It did not come. 

There was no sneering, no hits; only a Coruscanti accent from somewhere above, unintelligible and soft. Through the slits of his swelling eyes he saw a figure walking away, a long robe billowing behind him. It was the last thing he saw before everything went completely dark. 

***

“What happened,” Korkie questioned, dazed and sore.

Wodi lifted him up roughly by the arms, avoiding the boy’s bloodied face. “I don’t know, what did _you_ do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” It hurt to speak. He touched his mouth and winced. 

“Sure you didn’t. Stop trying to be the hero. See where it gets you? It gets your face smashed in.” 

Korkie searched around for his assailant. “Where did he go?”

“Don’t worry, he’s gone. He just straight up stopped and walked off. Out of his mind, probably. Being outside in the suns all day can do that to you.”

“What about the other man?” 

“What other man?” 

A cloud of confusion swirled within him, his sanity now in doubt. “Nevermind. I...I fear I must be concussed.”

“Well, serves you right for not minding your own business.”

“Are you going to get rid of me?”

Wodi sighed. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth lately…I’ll give you one more chance. I don’t really _have_ a heart, but anyone with a shred of decency wouldn’t throw you out in this pathetic state.”

Korkie staggered to his feet. _Pathetic_. He couldn’t argue that. 

“Take the rest of the day off, I don’t need you bleeding everywhere.”

***

There was nothing to do but lie down and ache and think. Korkie was most dangerous when thinking. 

He replayed the snippet of memory and tried to capture every detail. He couldn’t, so he filled in the rest with logic - and his imagination. 

Korkie once wrote a thesis on the cultural significance and symbolism of Jedi attire, so he was not ignorant of subtle robe distinctions. It _could_ be a Jedi robe. But that was absurd, of course. A robe was a robe, and the Jedi were no more. 

Perhaps the blows to his head made him delirious. He must have seen what he wanted to see, needed to see. 

Being cooped up all day and obsessing over impossibilities was making him restless. He was well enough to walk now and a drink might help clear his mind. Or make his head throb even worse. 

***

The cantina had a sour, desperate scent. Korkie didn’t belong there, but then again, it often felt he had no place in the entire Galaxy.

The bartender threw the boy a sympathetic glance; the bruises were still fresh and angry. “Whoa, kid, you’re looking rough. Better not be starting trouble around here,” he winked and slid a drink across the counter. 

Korkie wondered when people would stop calling him ‘kid.’ He took a slow sip, minding his busted lip. It was strong, not like the Kalevalan wine he used to sneak out of the pantry. This tasted rougher, more dangerous. He liked it.

It would be so easy to become one of them, he thought, as he observed the cantina patrons slumped over the tables. No responsibilities, certainly no shame. No great burdens to carry. It would be so easy not to care anymore. For Korkie, though, that was impossible. 

Yet he studied then carefully, committing to memory their mannerisms and crudity, just in case he had to pretend one day. He absorbed their loud conversations, not necessarily by choice, picking up bits of local gossip and unsavory tales. 

“...he wanted how much for a speeder?!”

“...that’s the best place around for _real_ fun, trust me…”

“...and there was this fellow, Ben Kenobi…”

The name hung in the stagnant cantina air, hovering just out of reach. Was this really happening or was the head injury more serious than he thought? 

All other chatter and noise seemed to vanish except for his heart pounding against aching ribs. He demanded, with a frenetic interruption, “Excuse me, excuse me...what was that name you just mentioned?”

The Bartender set down a glass and answered, “Kenobi? I was saying how hard it was to get a name out of him. I make it my business to know everyone who comes around here. Who are _you_ , by the way? What’s your story?” 

“I...I don’t know.” Dizzy, he grabbed the edge of the counter to steady himself. 

“Too much to drink, kid?” 

“Tell me about this Kenobi, _please_.” He barely managed to get the question out, his mouth suddenly dry and uncooperative. 

“He’s new around here...keeps to himself. Was around earlier today, in fact.”

“Was he wearing a robe?”

“Why, yes he was. Kept his hood up the whole time.”

“Did he...how did he speak?” 

“He sounded fancy. Like you.”

“Where-”

“Look, kid, that’s all I've got. I said I know everyone, not _know_ everyone. Why are you so interested? Does he owe you something?”

“In a way,” Korkie whispered, bewildered. He nearly knocked over the stool in his frantic exit. 

The ground was moving beneath his feet. The walls closed in around him. Yet this was a different feeling. He wasn’t running from it, he welcomed it. 

Korkie gazed up at the night sky, eyes watering. Answers. That was all he wanted. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Korkie sat aboard Coruscant Airbus #9421 in his best uniform, still flushed with excitement after his bold escape. If all went according to plan, he would be back before anyone realized he was missing. 

He looked down at his name tag:

_ Future Peacekeepers Conference  _

_ Kryze, K.  _

_ Mandalore   
  
_

He tore it off and stuffed it into his pocket, wishing to remain anonymous on this excursion.

His first time ever being on his own and it was  _ thrilling _ . Yet those around him hardly noticed a precocious nine year old with his face pressed against the window. 

“Excuse me ma’am,” he asked the Mirialan woman seated next to him, “is this the correct route to the Jedi Temple?”

“Yes it is.” His politeness earned him a smile. 

“ _ Wonderful _ ! You see, this is my first time on Coruscant and I wasn’t quite sure.”

“Are you enjoying your time here?”

Korkie shrugged. “It’s fine. A little dingy in places. And definitely more crowded than Mandalore.” He neatly folded his hands in his lap and swung his dangling legs. “I’m a Mandalorian, by the way,” he explained proudly.

“I’m supposed to be at a conference, but this is much more interesting.”

The woman glanced around, wondering who this child belonged to. No one appeared as well kept or pretentious enough to have produced him. 

“Do your parents know you’re out sightseeing?”

“I don’t have  _ parents _ . But my aunt won’t mind. She encourages exploration...for educational purposes.”

Oblivious to the unspoken rules of public transportation, Korkie continued. “This trip is rather educational, in fact. When I return to school, I will have plenty to share. I’m going to visit the Jedi archives, I heard they are  _ extensive.” _

“What is your favorite subject to study?” She asked, now obligated to make small talk with the solitary young traveler. 

“Hmm, most things, I suppose. You can _study_ just about anything, as long as you concentrate. But to answer your question, I would say history.”

“I recall learning about a history of bad blood between Mandalorians and Jedi when I was in school.”

“I’m aware, thank you,” he snapped back with a lengthy eye roll, “I refuse to hold grudges from a thousand years ago.” 

“Oh of course, of course. We shouldn’t hold grudges.” She eyed an empty seat some rows away and moved swiftly to avoid further conversation. Were children usually this obnoxious? “Anyway, you’ll want to disembark at the next stop.”

***

Korkie was thoroughly impressed at the magnitude of the Temple...the exterior, anyway, with its aura of peace, knowledge, and all the possibilities of his imagination. He let out a small squeak of excitement. 

It felt ancient yet alive with stories, heroic moments from across the millennia. Everything in Sundari was  _ new _ ; see how much of the past you could experience when you don’t destroy everything, he lamented. 

And so many steps! He was out of breath when he reached the top. Korkie didn’t feel small amongst the massive statues - he felt  _ grand _ . 

“May I help you, child?”

A Temple Guard! With an actual lightsaber! After allowing himself a moment to gawk, the boy cleared his throat. 

“I would like to go inside, please,” Korkie raised his chin, a tinge of entitlement in his demand.

“Are you a guest of the Jedi?”

He struggled to come up with a convincing lie. “I’m here to visit...um, Master….Master-”

“I’m sorry, young sir. Unless you have a sponsor, you cannot enter.”

“My aunt is a very important person.” He craned his neck to get a peek at the great hall that lay just beyond this inconvenient obstacle. 

“Child, you cannot just walk in and roam around unsupervised. This is a place of tranquility and reflection and-”

“May I at least see the archives?”

_ “KOOR’KOTYC ADONAI KRYZE _ !”

The Duchess of Mandalore, accompanied by her ever present guards, rushed up the steps. She rarely exuded this level of exasperation; it was reserved for involuntary policial meetings and the antics of one mischievous boy.

“I am beyond disappointed in your behavior!” 

“But I only wanted to visit the Temple!”

“You don’t  _ belong _ here. You are not a Jedi.” She looked up at the entryway and Korkie could not read her expression. Agitation? Fear? Definitely a bit of annoyance.

“You missed the entire first session of your conference! Do you know what a privilege it is to attend such an event? So many children would appreciate the opportunity that you have squandered.”

“But auntie, I don’t particularly  _ care _ about it. The other kids are awfully boring and only wanted to talk about-”

“I will hear no more. Come, we’re leaving. Our apologies,” she nodded to the Temple guard “my nephew can be unruly and headstrong at times. He meant no disrespect to The Order.” 

“I wasn’t being  _ unruly _ !” Korkie grumbled under his breath. 

As she led him away, he looked back up at the spires cutting into the sky. Maybe another time, he thought...if he was ever allowed to come back here again. 

A fiery lecture awaited Korkie on the ride back. Though he had heard a fair share of lectures in his short life, this one was particularly scalding. 

“You were irresponsible...foolish!”

“...it was dangerous...dishonest!”

“...how frightened I was!”

Korkie was sorry for worrying her, not for his misadventure. But a half apology was not sufficient right now. 

He begged for forgiveness with his blue eyes wide and almost tearful, a trick he had learned to appear sincere. Then he rested his head on her arm, an act that was, in fact, very sincere. She smoothed his hair back and tsked, “ _ oh _ , Korkie,” which indicated she was no longer angry. 

“But now did you know where I would be?”

“It has become a constant duty of mine to find you.” A knowing smile lurked at the corner of her lips. “I also had a small tracking device sewn inside your jacket. I always have to stay one step ahead with you.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave The Boy a full name so he could be properly scolded. I know it’s not grammatically correct Mando’a but it’s a name that justifies the use of Korkie...
> 
> “How do you pronounce that?”  
> “How do you spell it?” 
> 
> “Oh, you can just call me Korkie.”


	5. Chapter 5

Korkie was a piece on a dejarik board, being moved by an invisible hand. There was a reason, a  _ purpose _ for his misfortunes, he convinced himself. He didn’t run, it was fate that pulled him away and brought him here. This new idea encouraged him through each uncertain day. 

_ Vercopaani par jate’shya tuure, ner cyar’ika Korkie, a’partayli otacyir par ibi’tuur.* _

It was not too long ago, after  _ it _ happened, after secrets were exposed and he escaped from the constant drumming of war, that he found the courage and resources to search for the rest of the truth. He sliced into extensive galactic archives and scoured them desperately. He counted back from his birth date (was it even his real birth date? How much of his life was a lie?) then went back further. He found the only piece that made sense, even though it still made little sense. 

A  _ Jedi _ ?

He even found a picture, a blurry image of a young Duchess and her protectors standing amongst palace ruins. The young one, standing beside her with their shoulders touching. There was enough of a resemblance that it satisfied his suspicions. 

_ Kenobi _ .  _ Obi-Wan Kenobi.  _

By the time Korkie discovered him, he was gone again. He was dead. The Jedi were being wiped from existence. There would be no answers. 

And yet...

He had encountered this man, he was certain. He was Ben now, like in her vague Jedi stories. Coincidences weren’t as common as one chose to believe. Trillions upon trillions of beings in this galaxy, and they happened to stumble upon each other? It was surely meant to be. 

A grunting eopie dragged him back to reality. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me. No, actually, I do. I am on the verge of...well,  _ something _ . Do you think I should go look for him?” 

The eopie tilted its head. 

“I agree, it’s absurd. I think I’ll stay here and wait. Thank you for lending an ear, friend.”

He caught his reflection in a bucket of feed. His hair, bleached a paler shade by the suns, contrasted with the dark circles beneath his eyes. His hollow, haunted appearance shocked him; that’s what happens when you chase ghosts. 

“Right...I’ll stay here and wait.” Korkie possessed neither patience nor the ability to stay put for long. Especially on this day, when a glance out the window caught the blur of a robe turning into the alleyway. He jumped up, unwilling to let this opportunity pass. It  _ might _ be him...it  _ must _ be him. 

He sprinted out of the stable, dodging passersby  and relying on adrenaline to carry him faster.  Even a near collision with a speeder could not discourage his pursuit. 

“Wait! Stop!” The boy grabbed a sleeve and the figure spun around; he was face to face with a hairy Shistavanen, bearing its teeth in anger.

“Sorry, sorry, I thought you were…someone else.” 

The Shistavanen’s response was not in any of the eleven languages Korkie understood. His second apology was met with a hard shove. 

Crestfallen, he sluggishly returned to the stables, only to find a chaotic scene outside; confused eopies trotting in aimless circles, Wodi spewing curses as he attempted to catch a couple that bolted past him. 

“ _ Shab _ !” Korkie rushed over to wrangle them in, an ordeal that lasted a good part of the morning once the animals had tasted freedom. The wayward hooves stomped his feet, but the mental berating he gave himself was even more painful.  _ Can’t you do anything right?  _

Wodi finally slammed the doors shut. “Remember when I said I’d give you one more chance? Well, that was three chances ago.”

“Please, sir,” he begged, “I have nowhere to go, nothing to my name.” 

He shook his head and tossed the boy a few credits. “It’s what you’re owed for the week. Don’t go making me feel bad, I don’t like to feel. I’m sure you can find work elsewhere. You seem smart, outside of the fact that you’ve been pretty stupid lately.”

“ _ Excuse _ me, I’ve been dealing with...serious personal matters. I’ll be more careful, I promise!”

“Eh, everyone’s got problems. And no one keeps promises.”

“But who will take care of the animals?” 

“I’ve been thinking about getting a droid...sure, it’ll require maintenance, but at least it won’t sass me back.”

The boy’s mind was spinning, plotting. “Let me say goodbye to them?”

“They don’t care, but whatever makes you happy,” the stable master sighed. “Hurry up.”

Korkie ran to the supply chests and hurriedly grabbed what he could, anything that might be useful: a few ration bars, a livestock tracer, a canteen, bacta spray, spare parts for a moisture vaporizer. He stuffed the items into his bag with a nagging pang of remorse. This wasn’t stealing, he reminded himself, this was surviving. He’d rather be guilty than dead. 

He patted the nearest eopie. “You’ll be fine. At least you have a roof over your head. Good luck to you.”

***

Korkie only visited the cantina when things went wrong; that’s why it existed, he realized. 

“Oh, it’s the  _ kid,”  _ the bartender chuckled. 

“Are you hiring?” He asked, masking his desperation with a carefree grin. “Any work, I’ll take it.”

“You wouldn’t be much use for the security job, you don’t look very threatening.”

Korkie frowned. With a blaster and an objective, he could be quite dangerous. 

“Hmmm,” the bartender prodded a sleeping patron passed out across the counter. “Can you lift heavy objects, kid?”

“I’m stronger than I appear, I assure you.”

“I’ll think about it. You look sort of respectable, and we could use that sort of image here.” 

Korkie thought he looked like a mess, but around these parts, he passed for downright proper. 

“Here you go, this is on the house...because you’re eager for honest work, not like those  _ thieves _ that come around here.”

Korkie eyed the glass, took a sniff. “What is it?” 

“It’s called the ‘Memory Remover.’ By the way, that guy you were looking for last time? Haven’t seen him.”

“Oh.” Maybe it was best to forget his elusive ghost, just for tonight. After only a few burning sips, his inhibitions began to lower along with the suns. 

“Another one please,” he demanded, passing his payment across the counter. He knew he shouldn’t waste his limited funds, yet the temptation to forget everything, even for a brief time, was too strong. 

He downed the second drink like water.  _ A true Mandalorian can hold their liquor.  _ The jumbled thoughts and awful images that floated around his head were dissolving, one by one. No responsibilities, no burdens, no regrets. 

A drowsy smirk snuck across his lips. “Have you seen any Jedi lately?” he questioned the two-headed Troig sitting next to him. 

They stared and blinked. “And? What’s the punchline?”

“Oh, it’s not a joke. I was seriously asking.”

“Sounded like a joke to me” ... “Me too.”

“Well, I don’t find anything funny about it,” Korkie slurred, raising a supercilious brow. 

“It  _ is _ funny, because we  _ won’t _ be seeing any, the bunch of traitors and cowards.” 

A steady stream of Mando’a obscenities followed, delivered through gritted teeth. 

“Whatever that gibberish was...say it to my face, why don’t you?” 

“Which one?” The boy erupted with uproarious laughter at his own quip. 

“He must think he’s the most clever being in the room,” one of them said. 

“Not hard when you’re surrounded by  _ di’kute,*”  _ he grinned defiantly. 

Two pairs of arms grabbed Korkie by his collar, lifting him from his stool. He smiled, fully aware of the consequences of another provocation. “Whoever said two heads are better than one  _ clearly _ never met you fine gentlemen!” 

“Hey, hey, none of that now!” the bartender interfered, swatting at them with a wet rag, “we haven’t had a brawl in two whole days and we’re not going to break that record tonight!”

The Troig dropped him onto the sticky floor. “You’re not even worth it,” they both agreed. 

Korkie remained beneath the counter for a minute, gathering his senses and wondering if he was one of them now. Stealing, starting fights, drinking too much - was this a life he could live?

“On second thought, kid, how about you don’t come back anymore. Not for a drink, certainly not for a job. We really don’t want the trouble.”

“They started it!” 

“And you stoked it. Go,” he gestured to the door, “I was wrong about you...you don’t belong here!”

No, he didn’t belong. Not with the warriors, the leaders, the cantina lowlifes. There was no place for him at all. 

***

Korkie had nowhere to go for the night, probably every night in the foreseeable future, yet he wasn’t concerned; he was numb. A comfortable warmth coursed through his body, though it would wear off soon enough. 

He stumbled, finding balance against a wall.  _ This _ was the lowest moment, surely. He considered that perhaps trouble didn’t  _ find _ him, he brought it upon himself.  This was his fault, all of it. Everything. “I’m a disgrace!” he announced to the evening sky. He fell in and out of a hazy sleep, the sharp winds whipping him back into sobriety.

A prickling under his skin, a ringing in his ears simultaneously awoke him. His eyes shot open, quick enough to catch a hooded figure astride an eopie, following the path out of town. Hallucinations. Wishful thinking.  _ No _ . This was real. 

He rose to his feet, full of determination despite his emptiness, and followed the ghost into the darkness. They were the only beings in sight, which made the night feel more dreamlike. No, this was  _ real _ . 

Though there was a distance between them, the man obviously knew he was being followed. Of course he did. He spoke a soft word to his animal and dismounted, lowering his hood to reveal a bearded face, fraught with confusion. “You’re the stable boy aren’t you?”

“I was.” Korkie stepped forward, grateful for the lingering courage two strong drinks gave him. 

“Why are you following me?”

Korkie inhaled sharply, his confidence cracking under pressure. “Are you Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“No. You are mistaken.” The hesitation betrayed him, and his true identity lay revealed before them. His hand hovered over his left hip. Korkie could guess what was concealed beneath the robe. 

“I believe you were once Obi-Wan. You are  _ Ben _ now? It really doesn’t matter what you are calling yourself. I believe you are a Jedi, am I correct?” 

“You have the wrong person.”

“And I do believe you are my father.” A weight lifted off his shoulders, then crashed back down onto his chest. This wasn’t going as planned. 

Kenobi lowered his hand, blinking in disbelief. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid this is all a misunderstanding. I’m not-”

“Satine Kryze....” 

“I….” He searched for words, his anguish visible even in the dark. 

Korkie forced himself to repeat her name. “You knew her, didn’t you?”

“You know  _ nothing _ about her,” he growled. 

Korkie snickered with growing frustration. “I was born nine months after she left your protection. I was raised as her nephew. Only recently have I learned the truth.”

“That’s not...not possible. She didn’t... _ wouldn’t _ ...” He staggered like a man with a blaster wound to the chest.

“So you  _ did _ know my...my…” the word stuck at the back of his throat, “...you did know  _ her _ .” 

“Who sent you? How did you find me?” He remained eerily calm during his confrontation with the impossible. 

“No one. I’m alone, in every way. I wasn’t searching for you, I assumed you were dead.  _ Something _ brought me here, something I’m unqualified to understand. This was meant to be! If it wasn't, then why am I  _ here _ , on this karking  _ rock! _ ? Tell me, is it the will of the Force?”

He shook his head, stepped back on shaky legs. “This is a trick. Who are you, really?”

“I’m Koor’Kotyc Kryze. I’m your son.”

“I don’t  _ have _ a  _ son _ .” His declaration reverberated off the dunes, through the canyons, and deep within the boy, who collapsed to the ground upon hearing it. 

He was there, in that moment, on his hands and knees, yet he was also nowhere at all, the desert vanishing before his eyes. He was back in Sundari, powerless, useless, reliving his worst moments. He surrendered to the heaving sobs, all the hope and purpose he had imagined draining from him like lifeblood. 

_ Denied _ . This man, his father, must have sensed what a failure he was. His mother didn’t have a  _ son  _ either. His existence was shameful, his past based on lies, so what was his future? There was none. He would fade into the desert, nothing into nothing. He waited, wished, for the sands to swallow him. “No one ever wanted to claim me,” he cried.

He did not register the approaching footsteps, the gentle hand on his back.

“I’m so sorry. Whatever you were told, it isn’t...” he paused, closely examining the tear stained face in the moonlight. The trembling lips drew his attention first, for they once belonged to another. He closed his eyes, concentration washing over him as he gripped the boy’s shoulders. When he reopened them, they were glazed with shock. An unsteady hand covered his mouth “...true. It’s  _ true _ .” 

“What!?” Korkie spat. “What are you looking at?”

“My...son. I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” his voice broke as he chanted. 

“You believe me?” Korkie lifted his head.  _ Son _ . The word enveloped him like loving arms. He began to cry again.

“Forgive me, I didn’t want to believe.”

“But I don’t understand…”

“We’ll sort it all out,” he sniffled as he helped his boy to his feet. 

“You really didn’t know about me?” He hiccuped, fighting back another flood of tears. They were connected now by the same secret thread, both stepping into bright light after so long in the dark. “Did you even love her?” 

“I still do. Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Vercopaani par jate’shya tuure, ner cyar’ika Korkie, a’partayli otacyir par ibi’tuur. - -
> 
> Hope for better days, my dear Korkie, but remember to live for today.
> 
> Di’kute - idiots


	6. Chapter 6

“I _do_ appreciate the Jedi Order offering me bodyguards, though it has been a bureaucratic hassle and I must return to Mandalore  _ immediately _ .”

The aide was used to dealing with dignitaries from across the galaxy, but few were like Satine Kryze. “Yes, Duchess. Understood.”

_ Duchess _ ! Would she ever get used to that title? “Well, then take me to them... _ please,”  _ she added, remembering her manners amid the tumult.

“Of course, Duchess.”

She had absorbed every lesson on diplomacy and political finesse during her stay on Coruscant, yet nothing was ever taught regarding  _ fear _ . She drew in a deep breath and shut out the bustle around her. There was simply no room for it, she decided. Not anymore. 

_ My life will never be the same _ . 

****

Qui-Gon and his apprentice, Obi-Wan, seemed to be the quintessential Jedi, at least in Satine’s expectations. She considered them sufficient escorts for the journey. Her father had held the Jedi in high esteem, and thus her opinions were formed from his praise; this brief memory was all she would allow of him. She could bear nothing more. 

“Duchess, I’m afraid we will have to keep our introductions short,” the older Jedi explained, “We have a ship waiting for us, and there is-”

“Yes, yes, we must leave at once.” She quickened her pace to match theirs, as they were already on the move. 

The other Jedi shot her a bored look while they rushed to the platform, as if he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“You seem rather... _ young _ ,” she observed. 

“I’m nearly twenty, Duchess,” he folded his arms defensively and glanced over at his master, hoping for a sign of sympathy. 

“I meant no offense by commenting on your youthful appearance. Yet you  _ are _ relatively inexperienced to be detailed for such a mission, aren’t you?”

“And are  _ you _ qualified to govern a planetary system at the same age?” 

He struck a nerve. Satine raised her brows, shocked at his flippant retort. She did not appreciate his attitude, even if she reluctantly appreciated his handsomeness. 

“Forgive me for expressing concern for a young man’s safety,” she scowled. 

“You need not be concerned for  _ my _ safety, Duchess. I’m not the one with a significant bounty on my head.” 

“Obi-Wan,” his master sighed, clearly saving a lecture for later. 

Satine waved the argument away. “If we have little time for introductions, then there is even less time for apologies.” 

“Have faith in my padawan, Duchess. He may surprise you.”

“I haven’t the time for surprises either,” she muttered,  “I  _ must _ get to Mandalore!” 

“We will, eventually.”

“ _ Eventually _ ? We are taking a ship to Mandalore, are we not?” 

“You seem to be in denial about the threat against your life,” Obi-Wan interjected, “we need to make some detours for your protection.”

She was aware of the rage building inside her, and she cared little to stop it. This was not what she planned, what she prepared for. “How will that appear, if I vanish into the stars? What hope could I bring to my people then? I  _ refuse _ to run and hide from my duty!” 

Qui-Gon placed a hand on her shoulder. “You cannot bring them hope if you are captured or killed. Do you wish to be martyred before your work has even begun?”

His words brought her back to her senses, his entire presence a calming salve on her heart. She blinked away her agitation. Her people needed her, yes, yet they needed her  _ alive _ .

“Come, let us board.”

Obi-Wan led her forward with an exaggerated, almost sarcastic, gesture. “After you,  _ Duchess _ .”

“How kind of you,  _ Padawan _ .” 

_ He is certainly going to be a challenge. _

***

Satine sat in her cramped bunk, her knees folded against her chest. Even though she had her direction, her destination, her  _ purpose _ , she still felt like an insignificant mote floating adrift in the wind. 

She leaned her head against the wall, accidently eavesdropping on the Jedi. She strained to hear the conversation, her curiosity getting the best of her.

“I find her rude and stubborn, Master. Delusional, even. Did she honestly think we could simply travel to Mandalore without precautions?”

The Duchess wiped her eyes. They already thought her a fool. Surely no one would take her seriously, if even a silly, stuck up Jedi padawan couldn’t. 

“Those words are harsh, Obi-Wan. She is under enormous pressure and her grief is still fresh. She is so dedicated to her principles that they are all she can perceive at the moment. Despite her honorable intentions, this will not be easy for her.”

“I just...have a  _ feeling _ this will be a difficult mission.”

“Perhaps it will be.”

She pulled away, unable to listen any longer. There was no time to dwell on  _ fear _ , she remembered. She would gain their respect. She would prove herself worthy. To her people, to the entire galaxy. 

She was  _ not _ running.

“I am Satine Kryze, the Duchess of Mandalore,” she whispered her affirmation. “And I am a warrior who will triumph without spilling a single drop of blood.”

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep you waiting so long. Thank you for reading and keeping up with this story!

Korkie woke up in an actual bed, without the rank odor of beasts wafting around him, covered in a blanket he did not recall being there when awake. His eyes were still swollen from a long, cathartic cry, yet it had been a restful slumber. No nightmares reached him here; he was safe. 

Where was  _ here _ ? 

His memory betrayed him for a moment. He glanced around the synstone walls of a humble dwelling and there at the table he sat; a man deep in contemplation, stroking his beard in a steady rhythm, gazing out the narrow window. A man who obviously had not slept last night. Perhaps, from the look of it, not for many nights. 

Korkie observed, seeking to find more of himself in that face. He seemed simultaneously vigorous and tired, gray encroaching on his light auburn hair at the temples. A dark, familiar aura hung over him, clouding his warmth and kindness.  _ He lost his entire way of life, just as I did,  _ Korkie realized. He knew next to nothing of this man, yet they already possessed something in common besides their eyes.  _ Tragedy _ . 

“Ah, good morning.” Obi-Wan’s nervous greeting startled the fixated boy. 

Korkie nodded and continued to stare. Maybe  _ this _ was a dream. He rubbed his face. Still here. And his father was, too. 

“Did you sleep well?”

He nodded again, fully aware of how awkward the exchange was. “I want to apologize for my conduct last night. It was rather brazen of me to confront you like that.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Obi-Wan beckoned him to the table. “This...situation...will require some adjustment on my part.”

“I understand,” Korkie assured, taking a seat beside him. “This is all quite surreal.”

“Indeed.” He handed the boy a lukewarm cup.

“Thank you.” Korkie grimaced at the watery tea but still drank with relish. Any semblance of normalcy was to be savored. 

“I know it isn’t what you’re used to.”

“I hardly remember what I was  _ used to.”  _ Korkie almost laughed, “I was living in a barn. Not quite luxurious living.” He set down the drink, the room now so quiet one could hear the remains of it splashing around in the cup. “I have questions.”

“I’m sure. As do I. Would you prefer to clean up before we talk?”

Korkie looked down at his ragged clothes, his face flush with embarrassment. “Oh, yes. I would love to.”

“The ‘fresher is in the back,” he pointed past the small kitchen. 

“You have a  _ working shower _ ?!” 

“Yes, it isn’t as primitive here as you’d believe. There is a chest of clothes in the pantry, left behind by the previous occupant. Please, help yourself.”

Korkie could feel tears welling so he moved quickly to hide them.

The water was cold and had an unpleasant smell; he didn’t care. He welcomed the sluggish stream drizzling down on him and tried to clear his mind, a hundred thoughts vying for attention at once. 

_ That’s my father! I found him! _

_ Things will be different now that we have each other. _

_ What should I ask him first? _

_ I’m probably using up all his water... _

He rummaged through the clothing and pulled out a tunic, at least one size too large. He transferred his most treasured possession from a worn pocket to a new one, though the found pants were a bit too short. 

Passing by the mirror, he noticed the light had returned to his eyes. “I belong to someone,” he told the hopeful young man staring back at him. 

“Feeling better?” 

“Yes, much better, thank you,” Korkie smiled, toweling off his hair. He returned to the table, unable to hide his giddiness. “Now, I must ask-”

Obi-Wan slid a plate of dried fruit in front of him.“You must be hungry.”

“Oh, uh, yes, I am.” Hungry was an understatement. Actual food! He grabbed a piece without thought, and certainly without the manners that had been drilled into him since birth. 

“Have you ever tried black melon?”

“No, I can’t say I have.” Korkie shoved it in his mouth and within seconds spit it back out into his palm. 

“It’s an acquired taste, I should have mentioned.”

“I can see that.” 

“Try the knobblypear instead. It’s more agreeable.”

It was, and so the morning found Korkie washed and fed...but still without answers. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to learn how to cook now,” Obi-Wan teased. “Can you?”

“Cook? I’m sure I could learn.”

Was he just being polite? Making small talk? Or… “Are you avoiding my questions?” Korkie blurted out. 

“That is a bold assumption.” His fingers grazed over his beard. “What is it you want to ask?”

Korkie cleared his throat. “So you  didn’t know about me? At all?”

“No. Of course not.” The Jedi turned toward the window again, staring intensely at nothing in particular. “To keep the secret must have been a heavy burden.” He covered his mouth, holding back any other words he wished to say. 

“I  _ abhor _ secrets,” Korkie mumbled solemnly. His father either did not hear him or chose to ignore him. It seemed neither of them wanted to delve much into it at the moment. He changed the subject, raising his voice in the hope of breaking the trance. “And  _ how _ are you alive?”

“I often ask myself the same thing.” Obi-Wan spoke no further. _He doesn’t trust me. Not yet, anyway,_ Korkie reasoned. That wasn't too surprising - no one else did.

“Also, why are you  _ here,  _ the very definition of nowhere?”

“We’ll discuss this all in time. But first, tell me about yourself, Koor’Kotyc.”

“Please, call me Korkie.”

In an instant, all the color drained from the man’s face. His lips moved, silently repeating words from another time, another life. He shook his head, closed his eyes, and returned to the conversation. 

“Well, go on then, Korkie.” 

The boy’s heart soared at the utterance of his name, but his fears swiftly breached his happiness.  _ If he knew what I was responsible for, he would despise me.  _

“There isn’t much to tell. I’ve done nothing extraordinary with my life.” 

“That isn’t what I asked,” Obi-Wan smiled softly with eyes full of pain. “And I’m sure that’s not true. You seem like an extraordinary young man.” 

Korkie had much to tell his father, eighteen years worth of information. Yet he was hesitant; how would he measure up to a Jedi master? 

“I am... _ was _ ...top of my class at the Royal Academy of Government,” he began. He told of his scholarly accomplishments, preferences, and whatever else he could think of:

“I like my  _ uj'alayi  _ with extra syrup.”

“...I dislike the feel of tomuon wool.”

“...my favorite writer is Vo-Tahn Sode.”

“I once uncovered a huge black market scandal and exposed corrupt government officials in the process.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his chin. “That was  _ you _ ?”

“You heard about it?”

“I did.”

He continued, leaving out the entirety of the last year or so. “...and, in conclusion, I seem to always find trouble without fail.”

“How are  _ you _ still alive then?”

Korkie shrugged. “Luck.”

“There is no such thing. Give yourself some credit, Korkie!”

The boy blushed and shrugged again, still convinced he deserved very little. 

“Vo-Tahn Sode...that is an exceptional choice.”

“You’re familiar with her poetry?”

“I am. I appreciate her later philosophical works, though I prefer her pastoral period.”

It was obvious why they were both familiar with an obscure pacifist poet but Korkie chose not to dwell on the reason.  _ “Oyacyir o’r te ruyot oyacyir o’r aaray,”*  _ he quoted his favorite verse. 

“Very wise words.” 

“You speak Mando’a?”  _ Of course he did _ .

“A bit out of practice, I’m afraid. Now, Korkie, it is my turn for questions. Why are  _ you _ here?”

“The transport ship made an emergency landing. Isn’t that curious? Of all places!” he grinned. 

“But where were you going? Why did you leave?”

“I’ve been traveling, trying to sort out...um, I…” he struggled to explain, “I am  _ not _ running.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you were running.” Obi-Wan folded his arms. “There is no shame in your choice.”

“There isn’t much to go back to, anyway.” Korkie squirmed in his chair, signaling for a new discussion. Though it only grew worse. 

“You mentioned you didn’t know your true parentage until recently.”

“Yes. I believed I was a war orphan who was taken in by… well, I was told I belonged to Clan Kryze, a distant relation of…..”

“Korkie,” he leaned in, “how did you find out? Was it before she-”

“After. It was after.” He gripped the edge of the table, struggling to hold on to the present, the reality of here and now. The last thing he needed was a dizzy spell, more tears. What would he think of him then? 

“I’m very sorry.” Obi-Wan turned toward the window again, searching. “Who told you?”

The boy sucked in a deep breath. Couldn’t they resume their talk of poetry? Or fruit? Questions that didn’t hurt? 

“My aunt. My  _ real _ aunt.”

“Hmm, yes. We’ve crossed paths before.”

“Really? I hardly knew her. It was revealed in spite, but...I guess I’m glad she did it. Because how else would I have found you?”

“Are you in contact with her?” He asked, a nervous tone to his voice. 

“No, and I’m sure I’m dead to her anyway.”

“She knew about  _ me _ ?”

“No, no, I did my own research and discovered you myself. To find out my father was a Jedi, what a shock! Your alias didn’t fool me, I knew the name Ben from...from stories.”

“Stories? Good ones, I hope.”

“Mostly. They were relatively vague. But I bet you have tons of exciting tales from your younger days. I hope to hear them soon!”

“ _ Younger _ days? As if I’m ancient!” he smirked. 

“I meant when you were my age,” Korkie steered the conversation away from his own past. “What were you like?”

“I was both very unsure and very certain. I knew what I was meant to be, but I frequently doubted myself.”

“I suppose I have those moments too.  _ Sometimes,”  _ Korkie lied. He had no idea what he was meant to be or even who he was. Not anymore. 

“Do you think we’re alike? Do you notice a resemblance between us?” Physically, he already knew there was. Any deeper similarities had yet to be determined. 

“Yes, I do,” he paused, slowly taking in his son’s features, “though I see so much of your mother in you.”

Korkie stiffened and his exuberant demeanor quickly turned hostile. He bared his teeth like a wounded animal, pained and frightened. 

“I answered your questions and now I’m finished speaking about the past. Especially…I will  _ not _ speak of it again!” 

Obi-Wan’s arms tightened around himself. “Fair enough,” he eventually responded. 

A loaded silence settled between them. Korkie picked at his fruit, waiting for his father to snap out of whatever deep thoughts he was lost in, hoping desperately that he hadn’t ruined their relationship already. 

“Korkie, I’m going to need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to live in the past is to live in pain


	8. Chapter 8

_ We’ve been through worse. We are going to make it out.  _

Running, blaster fire, shielding Satine; suddenly Obi-Wan was a scared padawan again. 

She had been his strength then. The one who always assured it would be all right. Yet now...something was  _ wrong _ , he could sense it. 

He desperately smashed the controls of the  _ Twilight _ , anxiously waiting for the guns to fire, for a take off. 

Satine’s fractured presence in the Force further stifled the tense air in the cockpit. The throbbing pulse of fear, of  _ guilt _ ; it suffocated him, plunged him into a dread he couldn’t fathom. His veins chilled to ice. It was overwhelming and frightening, this pain of hers.

He centered himself, focusing on escape.  _ We are going to make it out.  _

“We have to contact my sister for help. She’ll send reinforcements.”

“Who is your sister?”

The ship began its halting ascent but she failed to answer, frozen in terror. What was wrong? Never once, during all their close calls and near disasters, had he felt this in her. 

She gripped the controls tight, hesitating to set the ship on its course. A tear slid down her cheek. An infallible woman, breaking before his eyes. 

“I can’t leave him!” 

“Who?” 

The shriek of missiles, a violent shake, sirens and smoke; they were hit.

“Let’s get out of here.” He took her hand as they ran toward the door.  _ We are going to make it out.  _

“If I don’t survive, or-”

“Satine,  _ stop _ . Hold on.” He scanned below, searching for a way down.  _ Focus _ . His pounding heart drowned out the death rattle of the spiraling ship. 

“Please,  _ please _ , you must find Korkie. Promise me! Find Korkie, he’s-”

The Duchess never finished her plea. In an instant she was falling, in an instant she was saved.

He grabbed her hand. She was so close to slipping away. So close.  _ We’ve been through worse.  _

Only once more would he take her hand. 


	9. Chapter 9

“Korkie, I’m going to need your help.”

The boy perked up, pride and panic both stirring in his heart. Was he worthy of assisting his father: a Jedi, a general, a survivor? What could he possibly need help with? 

A long pause followed, each waiting for the other to speak first. 

“Well, with what?”

“Tasks that require more than two hands. Repairs, mostly.” 

“ _Oh_.” Korkie hardly bothered to conceal his disappointment. 

“It will have to wait until tomorrow morning, when the suns aren’t as high, of course.”

“I would love to help.”

“Good, good. It’s best to stay busy around here.”

“What else is there to do?”

The inquiry prompted a discussion about life on Tatooine. Obi-Wan warned him of the dangers in the desert; Tusken raiders and sandstorms and nosy villagers. Korkie’s eyes widened at the mention of _dragons_. He only had mundane threats to speak of firsthand: “So, anyway, I don’t think I’m allowed back in that cantina....”

Obi-Wan gave a halted chuckle; it was obvious he had not laughed in quite some time. 

Though Korkie sensed this man was holding back, that he was marred by grief, he was still enthralled by him. Why couldn’t he have known him his whole life? _It_ _isn’t fair._ He dug his nails into his palms, silently fuming. Then he remembered how lucky he was to have found him at all, and his anger cooled to muted remorse. 

Their conversations continued throughout the afternoon, steering clear of sensitive topics or hints of their pasts. They spoke of pleasant things, mostly, until Korkie shared his recent experience in drudgery. 

“I would not recommend sleeping in a stable.”

His father’s eyes drifted to the bed, a small alcove in the living area. “I can hang a curtain so not to disturb you. I’m an early riser these days.”

“I couldn’t take your bed! Where would you sleep?”

“There is enough space in the pantry for a mattress.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t let you-”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ve slept in far worse conditions.” It sounded almost like a boast. “And so have you, apparently.”

“You...want me to stay?”

“Unless you were only passing through for a visit?”

A huge grin spread across his face. _He’s going_ _to keep me_! “Thank you…” it dawned on Korkie that he had yet to address him by name. “...er, what shall I call you?”

“Whatever you prefer.”

_Buir_ wasn’t suitable; he wasn’t Mandalorian. Father was too formal. Master Kenobi? Ben? No, certainly not. 

“Dad?” 

Yet another melancholy smile; Korkie was beginning to believe they were all he was capable of.

“That will take some getting used to,” he scratched his beard, avoiding eye contact. 

“If you rather I-”

“No, please use it.”

“It must be strange to suddenly and unexpectedly have a ward in your care.”

Obi-Wan turned away, crossing his arms tight. Korkie blabbered on, unaware. “Not that you have to be _responsible_ for me, I _am_ an adult, after all. I am very capable on my own….” 

“You must be hungry. Shall we eat?”

*** 

The next morning, Korkie stepped outside in a sunshield-coated poncho and wide brimmed hat, ready to impress his father. He knew he looked ridiculous but it was necessary; the suns were brutal. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan stood uncovered, squinting into them. 

“Let me show you around first before we get our hands dirty.”

Korkie frowned. He contemplated excusing himself to find gloves. 

Obi-Wan led him to a pen behind the hut, where two eopies roused in their lean-to. “Our transportation,” he announced. 

“Perfect! One for each of us.” The boy patted their snouts, excited about his new animal confidants. He knew there would be no objections to spoiling them here. 

“I was informed they needed to live in pairs, that they won’t thrive when separated. Is that accurate, or was I swindled into buying two?”

“I’m not an expert on eopie behavior but it sounds true. And if it’s not? Then at least they aren’t alone, right?”

“As long as they don’t conspire against us,” he quipped. “They are quite stubborn as it is.”

“They are stubborn beasts but they are sweet,” Korkie explained, “and they have a _unique_ smell.”

“I’m aware. You’ve already met Soso...and this here is Quakoo.”

Korkie snorted, choking back a laugh. 

“What is it?”

“You _do_ know that is vulgar slang around these parts?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan raised his brows. “No, I did not. I suppose that explains the strange looks I received while calling her.”

“I picked up some useful knowledge here. Including local vernacular. I’m a fast learner.” 

“Then you will quickly learn how to mend this pen, I assume.” 

Manual labor was not Korkie’s forte, even though he had experienced a fair share of it during his new life. He kept up the pace the best he could, admiring his father’s physical strength and resourcefulness. They were nearly the same height and yet somehow Korkie felt much smaller next to him; and, as their work progressed, more and more in the way. 

“That is not a wrench.”

“Oops, the suns were in my eyes. I couldn’t see!” Korkie laughed nervously. By deduction, he selected the correct tool. 

When he wasn’t struggling to prove himself a competent assistant, he kept the silence at bay with a barrage of questions, which were answered in various degrees of brevity. 

“Where is your family from? Not your Jedi family, I mean your birth family.”

“Stewjon.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Did you make it up so I’d stop asking?”

Obi-Wan sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “No, I did not invent a planet to quiet you.”

“Do you know anything about your ancestors?”

“Why are you so interested?”

“Because it’s my heritage too and I’m curious. What great deeds might they have accomplished? Why do I have a tendency to tap my foot when I’m bored? Is it because of my _Stewjonian_ great-grandmother? What else could I have inherited?”

“You are a Mandalorian, Korkie. Isn’t that enough to be proud of?” 

He hid his scowl beneath his hat. “I am _more_ than that,” he mumbled. 

Obi-Wan pointed to the vapor spire, the last item on their list of chores. “It has been giving me some trouble. I don’t suppose your useful Tatooine knowledge includes how to repair a moisture vaporator?”

“No, but I’m sure I can figure it out! I’ll go up there to check the parts.” It wasn’t particularly tall, yet one side was flanked by a steep, rocky drop off. 

“Korkie, are you sure?”

“I can do it,” he swore. Before he had a chance to doubt himself, he was already half way up, swallowing hard when he glanced down at the sharp, jagged outcrops below. He reached the top, though there wasn’t much room to stand and the creaking beneath his feet was worrisome. He felt around the spire, for nothing in particular; he had no clue what he was looking for, but it might appear productive from below, he concluded. 

The creaking grew louder, something snapped, and Korkie slipped, falling headfirst toward the rocks. He did not hit the ground though he could see it, inches from his face. He was weightless. Floating. Then gently lowered by invisible energy.

“Are you alright?”

The boy caught his breath and his balance. “Wow,” he whispered. “You saved me!”

“I merely cushioned your fall,” Obi-Wan countered, offering his hand. “And not a particularly perilous fall, at that.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen if not for that loose piece! Which _may_ be the problem.” 

“So your attempt was not in vain after all.” Obi-Wan examined the broken parts that lie scattered about. “Good job, Korkie.” If it was intended as sarcasm, the boy didn’t notice; he basked in the slight praise. 

“But what _you_ did! That was...that was...” Korkie instinctively felt his pocket, finding it empty. “ _Shab_!” He spun around and began a frantic backtracking. 

“What‘s wrong?”

“I lost it! Where is it?! _Shab_!” He dropped to his hands and knees, wildly digging through the sand. 

He was too preoccupied to notice his father reaching down, lifting up a blue iron heart pendant, staring. “What is this?”

“It’s nothing, just a trinket.” He swiped it back and stuffed it into his pocket. 

“That was hers...she had it on her when she-”

“ _No_ , it’s mine.” The boy’s hands shook. How did he know? _What_ did he know? 

“Korkie, how did you-”

“I said it’s nothing. No more questions, remember?”

He returned to the base of the spire, mindlessly fidgeting with knobs and switches until he composed himself. “I want you to teach me.”

“How to repair a moisture vaporator?”

“No. How to use the Force. I _know_ I have the ability. I’ve always had...I can _sense_ things. I can feel a connection. It all makes sense now. You passed it on to me.”

“Korkie,” his father sighed.

“Please?”

“ _If_ you _are_ sensitive, you are not in the right mind to focus on those abilities.”

“And what mind is that?”

“You are angry, fearful... _hurt_.”

Korkie, on the verge of protest, was silenced by Obi-Wan as he raised his hand and voice. “ _If_ I am to teach you anything, it will be to let go of these detriments. You think I can’t sense what’s wrong?” 

“There’s nothing _wrong_ ,” the boy grit his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“You are carrying a lot more than a trinket.”

Korkie blinked, the suns’ brightness bringing him closer to tears. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be powerless...useless!”

His father seemed to shrink before his eyes. “When you are ready to talk, I will listen.” 

“And then you will teach me?”

“There is only so much I can,” he uttered softly, barely a whisper. 

The boy unexpectedly hit a sore spot and was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry. I ruin everything, I know. I even ruin lives. I wasn’t supposed to... _exist_.”

“That is quite dramatic, Korkie,” he answered with a gentle sternness, “and I would appreciate it if you stopped speaking about yourself like that.” He pushed back the strands of wayward hair that had fallen out of place, distress no longer present on his sunburned face. “Now, let’s work on fixing this blasted vaporator.”


	10. Chapter 10

The last thing Korkie felt was an armored fist smashing into him, then darkness; a merciful nothingness. Now his return to consciousness was greeted with blinding pain, the scent of bacta. The worst headache imaginable magnified by...there was no measuring it, really. 

“Do. Not. _Move_.”

He recognized that voice, yet it took a moment to make the connection. It even hurt to think.

“Lagos?” 

“ _Vor kare*,_ you can hear me!” Her exclamation was one of great relief. “So seriously, don’t move.”

Korkie opened his eyes, the only movement she would probably allow. But there before him was not the same Lagos he was expecting, his longtime friend and now his... _accomplice._ Her hair was no longer tied back in her neat meticulous way, splatters of blood ( _whose_?) dotting her arms. For this mission, she had been playing a role she was not well suited for, and it showed clearly on her troubled young face. 

“Where am I?” The words formed, unwieldy and slurred, as if he had forgotten how to speak. 

“Someplace safe.” She placed the back of her hand on his forehead, the touch awakening his memories.

They were supposed to graduate in two weeks. That used to be the scariest thing, before now of course. They had been spending so much time together, more than they ever had before; preparing for exams, huddled together over a data pad and sharing their plans for the future. That future was bright and promising, and perhaps it was worth sharing….

“Where have you been, Korks?” Amis had asked, with a smirk.   
“ _Studying_ .”  
“Studying... _what_ exactly ?”  
“Anything you two want to tell us?” Soniee had pried.  
“ _Sure, how about the history of Concordia? It’ll be on the exam, you know.”_

But then Mandalore collapsed, and worrying about grades and whether you were _more_ than friends was from a different lifetime. One he wasn’t sure would return. 

“I stitched you up the best I could. It might leave a scar but that’s the least of your problems. You had me worried. I...I didn’t know if you’d wake up or not.” 

“Is my aunt here? Is she alright?” 

Lagos twisted the spare bacta patch in her hands. “Kor…”

“ _Where is she_?” A wave of dread swept over him, his pain no longer concentrated in the place of his wound. 

“She was captured. I’m so sorry.” 

He bit down on his lip until it went numb. “Did she transmit her message?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is Bo?”

“Soniee and Amis went to try and contact her.”

“She just... _left_?” Abandoned! Should he have ever trusted her in the first place? 

“I’m sure she’s regrouping her allies or maybe-”

“But why did they leave _me_ behind?” 

She had no answer for him.

_I’m not even worth capturing. Or even killing._

“Here,” she held a canteen beneath his mouth, “or you’ll dehydrate and not be of any use to anyone.” 

He would remember to thank her later, he told himself. But there was no time now. He tried to lift himself up and his head felt too heavy, the weight of the entire galaxy bearing down on it. 

“Kor, I _said_ don’t move. I’m not sure the extent of your injury. You could damage your-“

“I don’t _care_!”

“Well I do.” 

“Maybe I should have done this alone,” he regretted aloud. What if it had been an easier escape that way? 

What if he hadn’t needed to worry about his friends getting hurt? What if he didn’t have to deal with traitorous family members who appeared out of the blue? _What if, what if, what if..._

_“Excuse me?”_ It took a lot to provoke Lagos, and he crossed that line tenfold. ”You would still be lying there face down, _alone_ , if I didn’t drag you out of there!”

“I’m going to try to contact Bo myself,” he declared, ignoring her irritation. _I’ll apologize later._

“No, you're going to stay here and rest.” 

“We’re running out of time! You don’t understand...I have to fix this!” He sat up, too quickly, and an overwhelming ache sent him falling back down, clutching his head and wincing.

“Honestly Korkie, for someone so smart, you can be such a _di’kut**_ at times.” 

She did not mean for it to be harsh; how often had she repeated the same sentiment before? He would roll his eyes or shrug or even laugh. But not this time. This time he began to sob. 

There was something much more frightening to Lagos than being chased or shot at, and it was Korkie Kryze, her beacon of cheerful optimism, losing all hope. She squeezed his hand, yearning for reassurance as much as he was. “It’s going to be alright.” 

He shook his head, despite the throbbing pain; something else hurt more, invisible and searing.“It isn’t. And it’s because of _me_.” 

“You are not responsible for any of this!” Her eyes glistened with latent tears. “We’re up against something much larger than ourselves _._ We can’t save the world, Kor. Not on our own. _”_

He continued, no encouragement great enough to change his mind. “It’s all _my_ fault and now she’s—”

“Stop it! Would she want you to blame yourself?”

He considered how his auntie would react, and for a brief moment, a weak smile flickered across his lips. “No. She’d say...she’d say….” The boy exhausted himself back into a drowsy state, no longer able to speak or even lift his eyelids. The last thing he heard was a desperate plea.

“No, no _..._ Kor _?_ Korkie! Hey! Stay with me….”

But he drifted back into the quiet, dark nothingness again. This time, it was a relief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *thank the stars  
> **idiot


End file.
